Adoption by N.J. family changed fate for Russian brothers

By ABBOTT KOLOFF and DEENA YELLIN

staff writers |

The Record

Now 23, Martyn Hladyk takes history courses at Fairleigh Dickinson University and dreams of working for National Geographic magazine. Meanwhile, his fraternal twin, Mark, is taking online courses to become a dog trainer.

Their dreams of success in the United States are the opposite of their memories as young children in Russian orphanages: One recalls being beaten after stealing food because he was hungry; the other said he was forced to sit in a chair in the dark with his hands tied as punishment for being unable to sit still.

And the two men, who live with their adoptive mother, Ruth Hladyk, in Parsippany, said they are examples of what happens when neglected and abused children are loved — and what thousands of Russian children will be missing because of an American adoption ban that became law in Russia on Friday.

“It was like you were born in hell,” Martyn Hladyk said of living the first four years of his life in a Russian orphanage.

Russian President Vladimir Putin on Friday signed the law banning Americans from adopting Russian children, saying they would be better cared for by Russian parents.

But the law is widely seen as retaliation for restrictions the United States has placed on Russian civil-rights abusers, and critics say Russian parents rarely adopt.

The ban’s victims, the critics say, are the 740,000 Russian orphans who are now less likely to find a home. Over the past 20 years, 60,000 Russians have been adopted by Americans, with 46 adoptions pending at the time of the ban, Russian and American officials have said.

Some North Jersey parents this week described a system in Russia where bribes are part of the adoption process and where children are warehoused in orphanages, receive little affection, and are sometimes abused.

The Russian Embassy press office in Washington, D.C., did not answer a message seeking response to those allegations on Friday.

“Putin hasn’t cared for these children up until now,” said Judah Zeigler of Leonia, who adopted his son, Nicholas, now 18, from Russia 17 years ago. “There’s no reason to believe he will care for them now. This is political brinkmanship, with the children as pawns.”

Zeigler, a former mayor of Leonia, said he believes Nicholas, who is autistic and attends a special-needs school, would have died had he not been adopted. He said he brought $5,000 in cash to Russia for bribes, giving some to government officials as he signed legal papers. His son had been languishing in a Siberian hospital because there was no room in orphanages nearby, he said.

“The kids were sitting in cribs with no toys,” Zeigler said. “They had nothing.”

He said he donated medical supplies to the hospital — including a rectal thermometer a doctor said she didn’t know how to use. As his son was weighed on a scale, he said, a big cockroach emerged from behind it.

On Friday, when the ban became law, a couple from Dover in Morris County, Jenni and Josh Johnston, said they don’t know what would happen with their pending adoption of a 4-year-old Russian girl, Anastasia, who is HIV-positive. They said they already consider her their daughter. They bought Christmas gifts for her and were preparing for her to share a room with their 6-year-old daughter.

“It’s like bringing a baby home,” Josh Johnston said. “Now, we have no idea what’s going to happen. It’s devastating.”

He said Russian officials have given conflicting information about pending adoptions. He said adopting Anastasia was “saving her” from a system that dumps orphans onto the streets with little education after they are old enough — 16 — to be emancipated.

Russian orphanages have improved over the years, said the national chairwoman of Families for Russian and Ukrainian Adoption, Susan Gainor, a former Secaucus resident now residing in Virginia. But she said children still don’t learn skills they’ll need when released.

Gainor said that they don’t learn to cook or do their laundry and that their academic education is meager.

“They are just set loose,” said Gainor, who adopted a son, now 13, from Russia 12 years ago. “They may end up on the streets as prostitutes, committing crimes.”

Russian orphans adopted by Americans have a much better life, said William Blacquiere, , president and chief executive of Michigan-based Bethany Christian Services, which placed 20 Russian children last year. Bethany has an office in Fair Lawn.

He said families are required to make three trips to Russia before taking a child home, a process that can take three years. The ban, he said, could emotionally damage children and prospective parents who are deep into the process and who have already met.

“The family bonds with the child and is attached to them even before the adoption is complete,” he said.

In 1993, when Ruth Hladyk adopted Martyn and Mark just before their fourth birthdays, families were required to make only one visit to Russia. Neither boy, she said, could bear to be touched by the time she and her husband, who died in 1995 and was also named Mark, had met them.

Martyn Hladyk recalled getting just one bowl of soup each day for nourishment, which is why he stole food and was beaten. Mark Hladyk said he remembered rocking himself because it was soothing and being given the chair punishment because of it.

“They didn’t understand how to give and receive affection,” said Ruth Hladyk, 59, director of professional development of Fairleigh Dickinson University’s International School of Hospitality and Tourism Management at its Florham Park campus.

She said a psychologist told her that it “would be a miracle” for the twins ever to express love. But she said they defied that verdict and now tell her they love her.

“I love her a lot,” Mark said. “I think about what life would have been like without her.”

The boys’ biological mother, an alcoholic, had abandoned them in a hospital after their birth, Ruth Hladyk said. A psychologist told her that the mother’s drinking may have affected their prenatal development, she said, and was at least one cause of the severe behavioral problems they had.

Ruth Hladyk said she and her husband paid $17,500 to an agency to adopt the boys. She said they were told to bring $2,000 in cash to the orphanage director — money supposed to go toward improving the facility’s care. But she said she has no way of knowing how it was used.

She described the orphanage as “a grim place” where children seemed gaunt and underfed. The dorms were stark, with no toys or signs of the children’s individuality. The director instructed her to give the boys a lot of water because then they “would eat less.”

She said other children flocked to her, hoping to be taken. The clothes brought for the boys were too big because both were malnourished, weighing just 26 pounds, she said. They flew to New Jersey holding up pajamas by rolling the waistbands under their arms.

She said Mark was jittery from the start, and Martyn was withdrawn. Both struggled behaviorally and in school, she said, and went to special-needs schools.

They are now high school graduates, focused on the future. Mark Hladyk works in an animal shelter and is certified in animal grooming. Martyn Haldyk received an associate’s degree from the County College of Morris, recently earned an “A” in an FDU geography class.

“We had some very down times, but I am really proud of them,” Ruth Hladyk said. “They are proud of what they have accomplished.”

Email: koloff@northjersey.com

23-year-old twins Martyn, left, and Mark Hladyk with the shoes — now bronzed — they wore the day they were adopted in Russia by Americans Ruth and Mark Hladyk in 1993.

Mark and Martyn Hladyk with their mother, Ruth Hladyk, outside their Morris County home.

Adoption by N.J. family changed fate for Russian brothers

23-year-old twins Martyn, left, and Mark Hladyk with the shoes — now bronzed — they wore the day they were adopted in Russia by Americans Ruth and Mark Hladyk in 1993.

By ABBOTT KOLOFF and DEENA YELLIN

staff writers |

The Record

Now 23, Martyn Hladyk takes history courses at Fairleigh Dickinson University and dreams of working for National Geographic magazine. Meanwhile, his fraternal twin, Mark, is taking online courses to become a dog trainer.

Their dreams of success in the United States are the opposite of their memories as young children in Russian orphanages: One recalls being beaten after stealing food because he was hungry; the other said he was forced to sit in a chair in the dark with his hands tied as punishment for being unable to sit still.

And the two men, who live with their adoptive mother, Ruth Hladyk, in Parsippany, said they are examples of what happens when neglected and abused children are loved — and what thousands of Russian children will be missing because of an American adoption ban that became law in Russia on Friday.

“It was like you were born in hell,” Martyn Hladyk said of living the first four years of his life in a Russian orphanage.

Russian President Vladimir Putin on Friday signed the law banning Americans from adopting Russian children, saying they would be better cared for by Russian parents.

But the law is widely seen as retaliation for restrictions the United States has placed on Russian civil-rights abusers, and critics say Russian parents rarely adopt.

The ban’s victims, the critics say, are the 740,000 Russian orphans who are now less likely to find a home. Over the past 20 years, 60,000 Russians have been adopted by Americans, with 46 adoptions pending at the time of the ban, Russian and American officials have said.

Some North Jersey parents this week described a system in Russia where bribes are part of the adoption process and where children are warehoused in orphanages, receive little affection, and are sometimes abused.

The Russian Embassy press office in Washington, D.C., did not answer a message seeking response to those allegations on Friday.

“Putin hasn’t cared for these children up until now,” said Judah Zeigler of Leonia, who adopted his son, Nicholas, now 18, from Russia 17 years ago. “There’s no reason to believe he will care for them now. This is political brinkmanship, with the children as pawns.”

Zeigler, a former mayor of Leonia, said he believes Nicholas, who is autistic and attends a special-needs school, would have died had he not been adopted. He said he brought $5,000 in cash to Russia for bribes, giving some to government officials as he signed legal papers. His son had been languishing in a Siberian hospital because there was no room in orphanages nearby, he said.

“The kids were sitting in cribs with no toys,” Zeigler said. “They had nothing.”

He said he donated medical supplies to the hospital — including a rectal thermometer a doctor said she didn’t know how to use. As his son was weighed on a scale, he said, a big cockroach emerged from behind it.

On Friday, when the ban became law, a couple from Dover in Morris County, Jenni and Josh Johnston, said they don’t know what would happen with their pending adoption of a 4-year-old Russian girl, Anastasia, who is HIV-positive. They said they already consider her their daughter. They bought Christmas gifts for her and were preparing for her to share a room with their 6-year-old daughter.

“It’s like bringing a baby home,” Josh Johnston said. “Now, we have no idea what’s going to happen. It’s devastating.”

He said Russian officials have given conflicting information about pending adoptions. He said adopting Anastasia was “saving her” from a system that dumps orphans onto the streets with little education after they are old enough — 16 — to be emancipated.

Russian orphanages have improved over the years, said the national chairwoman of Families for Russian and Ukrainian Adoption, Susan Gainor, a former Secaucus resident now residing in Virginia. But she said children still don’t learn skills they’ll need when released.

Gainor said that they don’t learn to cook or do their laundry and that their academic education is meager.

“They are just set loose,” said Gainor, who adopted a son, now 13, from Russia 12 years ago. “They may end up on the streets as prostitutes, committing crimes.”

Russian orphans adopted by Americans have a much better life, said William Blacquiere, , president and chief executive of Michigan-based Bethany Christian Services, which placed 20 Russian children last year. Bethany has an office in Fair Lawn.

He said families are required to make three trips to Russia before taking a child home, a process that can take three years. The ban, he said, could emotionally damage children and prospective parents who are deep into the process and who have already met.

“The family bonds with the child and is attached to them even before the adoption is complete,” he said.

In 1993, when Ruth Hladyk adopted Martyn and Mark just before their fourth birthdays, families were required to make only one visit to Russia. Neither boy, she said, could bear to be touched by the time she and her husband, who died in 1995 and was also named Mark, had met them.

Martyn Hladyk recalled getting just one bowl of soup each day for nourishment, which is why he stole food and was beaten. Mark Hladyk said he remembered rocking himself because it was soothing and being given the chair punishment because of it.

“They didn’t understand how to give and receive affection,” said Ruth Hladyk, 59, director of professional development of Fairleigh Dickinson University’s International School of Hospitality and Tourism Management at its Florham Park campus.

She said a psychologist told her that it “would be a miracle” for the twins ever to express love. But she said they defied that verdict and now tell her they love her.

“I love her a lot,” Mark said. “I think about what life would have been like without her.”

The boys’ biological mother, an alcoholic, had abandoned them in a hospital after their birth, Ruth Hladyk said. A psychologist told her that the mother’s drinking may have affected their prenatal development, she said, and was at least one cause of the severe behavioral problems they had.

Ruth Hladyk said she and her husband paid $17,500 to an agency to adopt the boys. She said they were told to bring $2,000 in cash to the orphanage director — money supposed to go toward improving the facility’s care. But she said she has no way of knowing how it was used.

She described the orphanage as “a grim place” where children seemed gaunt and underfed. The dorms were stark, with no toys or signs of the children’s individuality. The director instructed her to give the boys a lot of water because then they “would eat less.”

She said other children flocked to her, hoping to be taken. The clothes brought for the boys were too big because both were malnourished, weighing just 26 pounds, she said. They flew to New Jersey holding up pajamas by rolling the waistbands under their arms.

She said Mark was jittery from the start, and Martyn was withdrawn. Both struggled behaviorally and in school, she said, and went to special-needs schools.

They are now high school graduates, focused on the future. Mark Hladyk works in an animal shelter and is certified in animal grooming. Martyn Haldyk received an associate’s degree from the County College of Morris, recently earned an “A” in an FDU geography class.

“We had some very down times, but I am really proud of them,” Ruth Hladyk said. “They are proud of what they have accomplished.”